


in a dead man's bed

by EasyPeasyPanic



Series: my darker fics [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Attempts at bringing back Izuna, Author is on a dark writing kick apparently, Codependency, Dark, Drabble, Dream Sex, Edo Tensei, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Minor human sacrifice to use edo tensei, Now With A Second Chapter, Obsession, Sexual Content, Stockholm Syndrome, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23921539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyPeasyPanic/pseuds/EasyPeasyPanic
Summary: Tobirama stumbles into an unchanged, dusty room. (Still housing the belongings of the former occupant, still preserved out of respectful disuse.)He lays in the bed of a dead man, falling into a dreamless sleep.___Also known as Tobirama kills Izuna, and he doesn't handle it well. Izuna doesn't handle being alive well either
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna
Series: my darker fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657405
Comments: 25
Kudos: 119





	1. dead man's rest

**Author's Note:**

> ya'll i should be sleeping but instead i'm writing this :^)

* * *

_**i.** _

Blood dries on his hands, his fingertips, his blade. He doesn't bother scrubbing it off, instead Tobirama methodically dumps his armour in his room, slips out of sweat-soaked pants and changes into something looser and soft, most likely Hashirama's clothing. 

His brother trails after him as he makes a beeline for his laboratory, which wasn't much more than an empty house that once belonged to Senju Ito, though it was left empty when Ito and his family died, leaving it open to repurpose. 

"Tobira," his Anija begins, not as loud as he usually preferred to be, instead going for a gentle, emotional approach. "Don't lock yourself in with your work. Let's talk about it, please, _otouto_?"

"No."

"Tobira." Hashirama whines, chasing after him like a hungry mutt, always going after him no matter which way he tries to avoid him. The blood against his fingers itch and flake as he rubs his palm with his thumb, frowning as he tries to go over his options in his head. "It wasn't-- nobody blames you, except yourself."

_And Izuna. He'll blame me, or he'd blame me if he'd lived, but he's going to die. He's going to die because I miscalculated._

"Shut up, Anija." He quickened his pace, easily outmanuevering his brother's hands as they tried to grab onto his shoulders and arms. Tobirama has a million ideas, a million thoughts and plans, and a thousand ways to ease the ache in his chest. Hashirama whines like an abused dog, stopping midway between the door of his lab and the path back to their own shared Main House.

"Nobody blames you, Tobira. It's war. You did what you had to do. I'm not even upset." Hashirama appeals to him softly. He wrings his hands, trying to make eye contact, but Tobirama can't bring himself to meet his eyes. This hadn't been planned, hadn't been how he imagined the fight to go-- he'd meant well, but when has his intentions ever _not_ led him astray-- when he'd attempted to show Izuna his Hiraishin. 

(In his head, everything had been meticulous. He'd waited for an oppurtunity, easily anticipating Izuna's movements. When hadn't Izuna used the Fireball Technique in battle. Everything went according to plan, his kunai, his trick, his technique, and then the non-fatal blow. The non-fatal-- it had just been a miscalculation. A misstep, a movement that he was careless. It wouldn't happen again because it...it couldn't.)

Tobirama gives his brother a pitying look for being so desperate to repair him when Hashirama should know by this point that he was far beyond mending. No longer able to stand his bleeding heart when he had his own to worry over. He waves the man away with a flick of his wrist, shaking his head. 

"It doesn't matter." He tells him, shutting the door behind him. He hears his brother give a cry of displeasure, a final shout of protest, but he's learned to tune him out when necessary. Tobirama slides his thumb down the frame of the door, across seals of ink from Uzushio and his own blood, until he feels the give and pull of chakra that winds around the empty house like a lock and key. It's dark, but he navigates with familiar ease, using dry, uncomfortably stiff red fingers to light up the lanterns and candles. 

Tobirama had only wanted to see the anger and awe on the Uchiha's face when he saw how the Senju moved faster than light itself. He'd wanted to boast of his own accomplishment, to feel the familiar excitement pool in his belly as he once against managed to ignite new fury in his rival's dark eyes, to prove himself superior once more, just to watch the passion cross Izuna's face. It was a simple request, easily enough done with much bloodshed, just a wound to his side, fast and easy. 

Until it wasn't anymore. 

Tobirama pulls out scrolls, some old and tattered, others newly written and transcribed onto his new notes, a few books with fresh pages that stuck together. He wets his finger, grimacing at the taste, coppery and sudden. Blood, Tobirama didn't mind, but it was more potent with the knowledge of what he'd done, and he flips through the pages frantically. He isn't a trained medical shinobi, nor even taught by healers. He's self-taught, either by observations, scrolls, and his own experimentations. But he knows what the human body can handle, and a strike to the lungs was-- at absolute best-- nearly instantly fatal. 

If Izuna wasn't dead by now, he'd be so by nightfall, or (if brought to healers quickly enough) morning's light. Tobirama had _felt_ it. His sword against bone, slipping between ribs with a sickening _swish_ of metal against bone and flesh. A miscalculation that had landed a beautiful, deadly blow. 

His chest _hurt_ with all the unsaid implications of what he'd done. All the messy emotions whirling around, ranging from love to regret, grief to affection. Tobirama chews his upper lip, a nervous habit from childhood, going over the Kanji written down again and again, trying to make sense of it. Of his own formulas. 

If Izuna survives, it's all unnecessary. All of this work would be for nothing, but Tobirama is far too fanatical over that Uchiha to leave himself open to such chances, and therefore he needed to force himself to work faster on unfinished work.

(Once upon a time, years and years ago, three brothers had played a game. _How would you like to die?_ They'd whispered to each other, and Hashirama had been far too romantic about his answer. 

_'Saving everyone! I'm going to die defending all of my precious people, both of you two especially.'_

And Tobirama had been far less optimistic and fantasizing about his reply, ' _In the line of duty for our clan.'_

But their youngest brother, much too young for such a serious question, and with the most sense of both brothers had gasped and pressed his chin against his knees. 

_'I don't want to die. Tobirama, you'll make it so I never die, right?'_

Which, of course, his brother had lied to his face with honest red eyes, with a promise of eternal life and oversight that eventually led to his demise. But still, Tobirama spent his spare time pondering about that reply and trying to create a jutsu to restore a life that Itama hadn't wished to ever lose. In war times, however, spare moments are few and far between, and plans have to be put off. 

Tobirama has long since regretted that lack of motivation to finish a revival technique, but none more than now when he needs it so greatly.)

By the time morning comes, his vision had blurred into a soft haze. Befogged by lack of sleep and chakra-exhausted caused more by the battle of yesterday than his reserved attempts in sealing modified ink into scrolls, but he has a more concrete idea of how to resolve his issues with Uchiha Izuna. 

His hands are stained dark red and black, ink and dried blood itching against his tender skin there, but he's far too exhausted to bother with either. Tobirama's has moved past his original shock, his uncomfortable feelings of regret and turned straight into an unfounded grief. He's tired. 

Distraught. He struck down the one person he'd always managed to find some fondness for, some sort of twisted pleasure in riling up and sending into fits of passionate rage, a passion in which Uchiha were known for-- that Tobirama often hoped could turn into physical and emotional passions of _other_ kinds. What would he do now? 

Without Izuna?

Tobirama blinked away the fog in his vision, the black ink turning into a dulled gray and blurring. He hides away the scrolls into a hidden compartment just in case Hashirama forces himself inside his space and goes through his things. There many things that Hashirama is willing to overlook, but such things as these are not easily ignored, and therefore, he has to hide it away. 

Tobirama stumbles into an unchanged, dusty room. (Still housing the belongings of the former occupant, still preserved out of respectful disuse.) 

He lays in the bed of a dead man, falling into a dreamless sleep. 

**_____ **

**_ii._ **

His first attempt fails. 

His second doesn't even manage to pull enough chakra to begin to form the entire seal matrix, but he's cautious of how much he's actually willing to use at one time. Untested theories often pull more chakra than anticipated, which could potentially _kill_ Tobirama himself, and he has to ration it out slowly to anticipate how much is actually necessary. 

His third attempt warps his new floor. It's a house he'd requested outside of the new Senju compound, far off near the undomesticated forest that surrounded the budding village. He's running out of time again to perfect his technique, and Tobirama finds the new monotonous existence to be lacking again just like his life before Izuna. No excitement, no surprises, no passion, nothing. 

He misses the Uchiha more and more as the Village grows and the paperwork stacks begin to overtake his office, and his nights left alone in his new empty house are beginning to be the only reason he rises from bed each day anymore. Even Anija has become steadily more tedious as time goes on and on, and Tobirama has to organize a schedule that becomes a lifeline. He schedules out his time with his beloved brother, for office work, for potential students, and gives himself afternoons and nights for his main project.

(Obsession, his brother would say in obvious disappointment, but Hashirama isn't allowed to know about this.)

His fifth attempt actually comes together. But the results are…

Less than ideal. It is, in all technical formation, _Izuna_ , except not entirely. Not wholly. It's a deformed creation, a mistake of seals or perhaps unformed. Perhaps the Kami themselves are refusing perfection out of anger of Tobirama's defiling of the laws of man and of spirits, of nature itself. There's no real skin on the body, nor real color. It's a dirty grey, all papery and almost translucent, not fully formed over recreated limbs. 

Ribs are visible beneath papery skin, not hardened enough to be real bone, but noticeable. Izuna heaves for air he shouldn't need. He's naked, slumped against the floor in front of the scroll Tobirama used to summon the matrix to pull a soul out of the afterlife, shivering. 

No words. No semblance of actual mental stability. His eyes aren't the usual fiery black, but instead they are unfocused, glossy, and dull grey. His mouth hangs open, and a death rattle shakes through pale lips. His dark hair hangs loosely around the floor, and he trembles like he was having a seizure. Tobirama leans closer to inspect him, maybe even to complete him, feeling a pinch of horror seep into his soul. He shouldn't have done this, not knowing if it was complete or not. 

This was pathetic, cruel. He wasn't alive, but not dead. Was the soul? The brain? What wasn't coming together? His body should be fleshier, his eyes more complete. 

"Izuna?" He runs his fingers through soft hair, not thick like he always imagined, but soft and downy like feathers. _Incomplete_ , his exhausted mind taunted. The body on the floor doesn't reply, just keeps shaking, uses soft, white fingers to grasp at the floor useless. Tobirama sighs softly, running fingers lower, across a pale neck, down onto visible ribs. He counts each one, traces them beneath the greyed flesh. 

"Izuna." 

Dull grey eyes don't respond, not to his name, not the snapping near his ear. His eyes are completely lost. Soulless. No, no _lifeless_. There was no life in this body, nothing concrete. Nothing tangible. 

It isn't right. He isn't even alive. 

Tobirama dispels the jutsu, closing his eyes. Dust settles onto his lap, onto his hands. His fingers are grey and trembling too, and he feels a surge of anger at himself. At Izuna for not coming back to him after all his efforts. But the more rational part of himself takes it in stride. For a trial-and-error run, everything was going according to plan. It would take a few tries to perfect. 

He just needed patience. Better planning. Tobirama would have to go over his seemingly random assortment of seals and kanji to see if anything could be improved, or added almost. There was an issue with the humanity, with the actual _life_ he needed to be able to breath into Uchiha Izuna. He'd have to improve upon that, wouldn't he? Yes, _yes_. 

Tobirama picks up his brush. He had only a handful of hours left until he'd need to report into the office for his usual duties. Hashirama would question his appearance, so he'd need to remember a henge to disguise the growing bruises beneath his eyes and the pallor. 

Oh, he'd need to avoid Uchiha Madara as well. He would be coming in around noon to bring back news from the new settlement in Rock Country, and his dark, angry presence always seemed to irritate Tobirama into unproductive annoyance that would affect his whole day. 

He couldn't handle such an interference so _close_ to bringing back his Uchiha. Tobirama shook his head, trying to clear the scientific mess that was going through his head, overwhelming him. Logic was telling him to stop. To let the dead rest, to stop meddling with forces greater than himself, except what else did he have left? 

Itama was gone now. Izuna was gone. Every person that brought him any sort of excitement, joy, _anything_. He loved Hashirama, but he needed more than that. Needed someone that was entirely his own, that was focused on him entirely. Hashirama was busy with Mito and Madara and his baby, but Izuna had always had eyes only for Tobirama. Rivalry was so close to real affection, that Tobirama was certain his feelings were requited. 

And what kind of man left the person he loved to rot when he could give them life again? Life for as long as they both pleased. 

(For as long as Tobirama pleased. Until _he_ died, and then they could go into the afterlife together.)

**_____ **

_There are hands, warm hands against his cheeks. Flesh._

_"Tobirama?"_

_His eyes flutter open, searching the dark of his bedroom. Two dark, shining eyes stare down at him, smiling. Thin lips pulled over gleaming teeth, almost feral, and wild black hair flows over bare, scarred shoulders. He's on top of him, straddling Tobirama, completely naked and moaning softly as he rocks against his clothed thighs._

_"What…?"_

_"You brought me back." Izuna whispers darkly, leaning down, hands moving down from his cheeks to his throat. "Did you forget already, Senju? You worked so hard to bring me back just for you, and then you fell asleep. Left me all bored and alone."_

_"I'm sorry." Tobirama strains out when those long, nimble white fingers wrap softly against his neck. Izuna tilts his head, still rocking his hips agonizingly fast, up and down, the friction of Tobirama's pants catching against his growing hardness. He gasps at the feeling, not enough and too rough. He doesn't remember…._

_Doesn't remember succeeding. Doesn't remember bringing him back, but it's been so many sleepless nights so his memory isn't the most reliable. He gasps in a breath when Izuna's hands tighten._

_"Punishment for killing me." Izuna sings, smiling wickedly. "You never apologized to me for it, did you?" He stops rolling his hips, but doesn't stop tightening his grip on Tobirama's throat. "Or for just falling asleep! I had to drag you in here myself, you bastard."_

_He can't reply, straining to keep his calm and not fight off what he's been waiting for since he hit puberty years ago. He's been waiting for Izuna for years, prepared to live his life unsatisfied. The pain keeps him stimulated, keeps him alert and his heart pounding, and he sucks in little gasps of air._

_(Like a death rattle.)_

_But fire courses through his veins, consuming him. Arousal. Relief. He did it. He did it, he brought him back. Flesh and blood, and eternally his to have. Izuna rocks his hips forward again, faster now. Arousal surges again, and Tobirama chokes out a low groan at the feeling of Izuna jerking his body against his cock, pressing him into a rough friction of his own pants trapping him onto his belly, and he tries to roll his hips into it. To jerk off using the steady pace of Izuna's ass dragging against his body._

_This is what he wanted. Exactly what he wanted. His vision begins to darken at the edges as his body craves air, needs air to keep going, and his kung ache. His muscles tense, painful and urging him to fight._

_Fight. Fight. Fight._

_No, not again. No more fighting, not after the years wasted doing that. This is what Tobirama wanted. This is what he knew would happen when he brought Izuna back. He loses himself to the feeling, the new passion and love and the feeling of being used--_

He jerks awake to sunlight on his face from a cracked blind. To an ache in his neck from slumping over his desk. 

Tobirama blinks awake, confusion and disappointment filling him. It was a dream. It was a fucking dream, just a hope. A wild imagination.

_No. No. nonononononono--_

He lets out a frustrated snarl, shoving the papers off his desk, throwing the ink. He stalks up and towards his bedroom, furious at himself for failing and for hoping and...

and for having to go change out of his used, sticky pants into fresh clothing. 

**_____ **

**_iii._ **

Madara betrays the village. 

And that…

Doesn't actually bother anyone besides Hashirama. He destroys himself over it, falling into a deep depression and turning a blind eye to whatever's going on in the village. Which dumps most of the administrative duties onto Tobirama and _lessens_ his very little spare time more, but also offers great advantage to him too. He sets up an elaborate bureaucracy that trickles his workload down into different departments. 

It's efficient. It's wise. It gives him more time to tinker with the already changed and advanced seal that will bring Uchiha Izuna back to him. His sister in law assisted him greatly with adjusting a few of the seals that he had felt were previously inadquete, although he has to give them to her in pieces like an incomplete puzzle. (Mito isn't foolish, however, and Tobirama knows that his lies aren't completely fooling her. She could easily solve her questions if she looked into his plans hard enough. She doesn't. Mito has enough trouble handling Hashirama's misguided affections for the dead Uchiha Madara.)

With Hashirama's leniency and absence from his duties, Tobirama has free reign to do whatever he wishes to do. It's easy enough to borrow a person from the newly built prison, a nameless young man in his early twenties, but arrested for murdering several families within the jurisdiction of Konoha. He's the one that developed the law system, the housing of prisoners, and without his brother's oversight, he easily walks in and demands to take the prisoner for execution. The guards say nothing. 

Because life must pay for life. After countless failures in revival other than blank grey eyes and translucent skin, Tobirama realized exactly what was missing from his technique. _Life_. 

A soul couldn't bind itself to paper and ink, it needed a binding solution. Something it could cling to without fail. 

However, he couldn't just attempt the technique in his own house anymore. Not with so many other factors that could interrupt him now. Hashirama was known for wandering over to share a bottle of sake that usually went more to himself than his little brother. Mito would come by occassionally unannounced when the stress began to bear down on her. Sometimes she brought his nieces with. Touka made apperances at inconvienent times, if only to check up on him or to ask about Hashirama's mental health. 

(Nobody ever asked about his own.)

No, Tobirama needed a seperate space like before in order to avoid any complications. It couldn't be anywhere near the Senju compound for obvious reasons, it would be suspicous for him to randomly occupy a house that wasn't his without reasoning. 

It couldn't be within range of anyone's hearing or sensory. No neighbors, no civilians, nothing. There wasn't an ideal location, but Tobirama had to think fast before his captive woke and began to make a scene. 

Or before anyone began questioning _why_ he was escorting a villager throughout the village in the shadows of the trees. 

Tobirama thinks it over, far too pleased by his stroke of good luck. He adjusts his hold on the prisoner, a sense of satisfaction filling him. It wasn't often things played into his favor.

**_____ **

"--fucking son of a bitch, let me go!"

The man's thrashing and screaming, but Tobirama doesn't mind it. Nobody had wished to live near Madara near the end of his life, right before his defection and betrayal as he became more and more unhinged, and his old house was far enough away for nobody to hear the screams or interrupt. 

He adjusts his seals, laying the scroll against the floor. Black ink easily spread across the floor, stealing away most of Tobirama's chakra with it, and it enveloped the man's legs. He screams, fighting against it, as it slowly spread up and across his limbs. Paper-like flesh followed, thicker and less grey than his original attempt, slowly pinkening into a layer of flesh. The man's screams died down into a muffled wailing that slowed into a dead silence as the body reformed and readjusted. 

He waited with baited breath, although he felt confident. Tobirama was going to get everything he wanted right now, bringing back the love of his life, his only equal left. And now, with Madara's death, he had no competition for Izuna's affections. The papery flesh twisted and morphed across the body, accepting the sacrifice, a life for a life.

Black hair fell against a white yukata. Skin turned into an ivory, flakky but more solid than ever before, but Izuna did not move. He stayed kneeled down, head hung low, not quite alive yet. Or…

Did Tobirama fail again? No, no, _no._ Unacceptable.

"Izuna." He says firmly. " _Izuna_." 

Slowly, very slowly, his head begins to rise. No tremors, no seizures. Clothing covering new flesh, no protruding ribs and translucent skin. Black hair shifts, falling to the side as his head raises, and dark eyes peer back at him. Blank. 

"Izuna?"

Something snaps back. Hatred, rage, _passion_ fills his eyes. Izuna lets out a shout, his body jerking. 

"Senju," He hisses, and it isn't that just wonderful? The way he said his name, the familiarity. The way it sounded so lovely over the Uchiha's tongue, the way that Tobirama has dreamed of for days. "You fucking bastard."

"I brought you back," Tobirama murmurs, fighting back the nervousness and pride. Success, a true success, his dreams were coming true. "I can fix the smaller details. Repair your flesh to be more life-like. Don't worry."

"You've taken grave robbing to a new level, you sick bastard." Izuna trembles his new limbs jerking unsteadily like a newborn foal, and he falls forward, ungracefully hitting the floor. He snarls, pushing himself up, and pulling his head forward. "First you kill me, and now you won't even let me have that death? You _bastard_."

"But I brought you _back_ ," Tobirama repeats, confused. This was what they both mutually wanted, wasn't it? He'd made a mistake, accidentally striking the Uchiha down a few years ago, but it was fixed now. They didn't need to dance around each other anymore, they could give everything to each other without consquences. Go to the grave together, just as they always intended with each clash of their blades. They were always striving to compete with each other, to impress each other. 

(To seduce each other. As if Tobirama could have missed the hidden meaning in the hot, dark glares the Uchiha had given him.)

"You dragged me out of the Purelands." Izuna snaps, going at him. "Why would you do that?"

Ah, he would need to write this down for research purposes. This wasn't a failure. Obviously sudden revivals created confusion and agitation in a subject. Which was absolutely _fine_ , he could handle that. That could be fixed. 

"So we could be together." Tobirama answers easily, offering a small smile to calm him. Izuna's chakra wasn't nearly as strong as it had been when he'd lived the first time, but it was wildly hot and raging, and it made him feel the thrum of arousal in his veins, just like in his dreams. 

"Together?" Izuna shouts, still agitated. "Why in the Hell would I want to be together with you, _Senju_?" 

Tobirama sighs, shaking his head. He leans closer to the struggling Uchiha, pulling a tag out of his sleeve. He was hoping not to do this, but obviously he can't have Izuna in such a state of confusion and anger. Being revived was so traumatic that he was lashing out, but that was alright. Tobirama could fix that later. Rather than undo all of his work, he lets the tag dissolve into his skull, easily holding down the shouting and thrashing Uchiha, and then he goes limp. His body goes soft and pliant, and Tobirama strokes a hand through soft black hair. 

"This will keep you still until I can find a way to help you transition easier. You're too fresh from the grave, so you aren't coherent. I'll make note of it in my design." Tobirama rambles, disappointed at the reaction, but not put off. Once Izuna calmed down and remembered their shared affection, they could begin their new relationship, but until then, this would keep him quiet and still. 

(Just like in his dreams, right?)

Izuna let out a soft whine. But he can't fight back or talk, just lay limply. Tobirama runs a finger across his cheek softly, offering a small smile. 

"We'll try again tomorrow."

Tobirama blinked away the fog from his vision. He hides away Izuna into a spare room off of the living room just in case somebody forces himself inside his new space and goes through Madara's old things. There are many things that people are willing to overlook, but such things as these are not easily ignored, and therefore, he has to hide Izuna away. 

Afterwards, Tobirama stumbles into an unchanged, dusty room. (Still housing the belongings of the former occupant, still preserved out of respectful disuse.) 

He lays in the bed of a dead man, falling into a dreamless sleep, content to know that tomorrow would bring him dreams into reality. 

* * *

  
  



	2. if i just wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a great time writing this tbh
> 
> THANK YOU guys for the ideas btw :^)

* * *

_**i.** _

Between the two brothers, Izuna was the better of the two at playing games. Anything really; hanetsuki, hanken, shogi, tag, hide and seek, any game that they could play as children and then even as an adult, Izuna was the better player. Mostly because his elder brother lacked a certain playfulness and imagination, leaving plenty of room for Izuna to play tricks, cheat, and learn the ins and outs of any game until he's the best. 

(If Madara had ever complained about his wandering mind and childish practices, Izuna would say it was sharpening his adaptivity skills, a key concept to shinobi.)

Which is why, he begins to think of his existence so far as a new game, where he doesn't have all the pieces yet or know all the rules, but he knows the end and the beginning, so there's leniency in playing it. Izuna's patient when he needs to be, despite what people had thought about him in the past, although he doesn't really have a choice but to be. If his temper flares up, which is had for the first…

Weeks? Months? Time was fleeting and confusing when one didn't need sleep anymore, but also couldn't go outside of three rooms. His body was sealed to him, his limbs felt jittery and heavy, and movement was a struggle because of whatever Tobirama had done to him. He couldn't use his chakra, couldn't struggle very hard. If he got too angry and cursed, if he tested the Senju's temper, he'd end up left in a dark room by himself, without any feeling in his body. 

Not able to speak or move or even think very hard without white hot pain radiating throughout his entire body, forcing him into a concious silence, and Izuna couldn't afford to go through that again, not after he'd worked so hard to get on the bastard's good side. 

It was just a game, and Izuna was learning how to outplay his captor. Domestication was the key, because Tobirama seemed keen to play house with him during their time together. He brought food that Izuna couldn't eat, told stories that Izuna couldn't relate to with people that he didn't know. Somehow, they'd begin their little dance in the empty living room, smiling and chatting, and then they'd end up in the bedroom which was--

It was something. Izuna should be grateful he can't feel much of anything anymore, or else he'd wonder if his body would be aching and bruised. Tobirama was rough, shoving him up against whatever was nearest. The wall, the floor, the bed. No preparation, no sweet talking. Izuna didn't think he'd ever miss the sappy romantic talk of the women he'd seduced in the Uchiha clan and at hot springs, but something about the quiet groans and huffs for breath made Izuna miss it. 

He wasn't sensitive anymore, not for pleasure or pain. Occasionally, it jolts sparks of pain across his body when Tobirama first fucks into him, but those are few and far between. And Izuna _misses_ it. It'd be easier to hate Tobirama if he was hurting, aching, being broken down physically. What he feels in his belly now was pity.

Absolute pity. 

Even now, sitting across from the man while he ate his dinner, a bowl of rice sitting in front of Izuna like a child did during pretend tea parties for their dolls, he feels an ache of pity for the pathetic man. 

"Iwagakure has thought about declaring war," Tobirama murmurs, sipping his tea. He sets down the cup, offering a small smile to the Uchiha, and he's far too relaxed around somebody he should be afraid of. He wears a loose yukata, his wild hair brushed out and fluffy, and he doesn't have a weapon on his person. As if this were a normal family dinner. "There are some from Iwa that have taken root here, but now suspicions are high. I've advised Hashirama against affirmative action, but I can't be sure what he'll do."

Izuna isn't actually sure what Iwagakure is. Another village, he guesses, but he doesn't know where it would be. He keeps his pale, freezing hands clasped on his lap, trying to fight the glare from his face at the mockingly hot food that sits in front of him. Every night Tobirama sets it in front of him, as if he could somehow eat it, as if he weren't undead and _wrong._

 _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._ Dead, but not rotting. Gone, but not resting peaceful. Just a puppet on a string for the pathetic pleasures of a lonely man. Izuna was crossed between anger and sympathy for someone so broken down that his only companionship was a dead man. 

"You'll guide him into the right choice. He listens to you." Izuna says pleasantly, as if he were moving his pieces on a board. Be on his good side, be his devoted lover and companion, and take advantage of that trust later. 

Tobirama hummed, pleased. "It would be easier if our forces were more prepared." He sets his chopsticks down across his bowl, pressed together. He takes one hand, slowly slipping it into Izuna's, settling their hands on the table. 

As if they were truly lovers. Devoted to each other, and Izuna has to fight back a scream rising in his throat. This never gets any easier, never--

"I'm lucky to have you." Tobirama tells him, dark red eyes softened into adoration. He tilts his head closer to Izuna, as if expecting a kiss, and Izuna struggles to force himself to do the deed. He offers a chaste brush against his lips, the warm settling onto his cold lips comfortingly. 

(Why the hell that Tobirama felt this was anything he wanted, felt this was somehow his intentions when he died, was beyond Izuna's comprehension. How _dare_ he-- dragging a man out of his earned death, away from his mother and brothers into this freezing, touchless existence. Little feeling, no hunger, no real desire except to go back to the grave.)

"Your lips are still so cold." Tobirama mutters, his eyes going over his flesh like he was tearing him apart, fake skin and all to see what was underneath. "All of you is so cold."

Izuna lets the messy, emotional words slip off his tongue, "I have you to keep me warm."

"I can fix that," Tobirama mutters, rubbing a thumb across Izuna's palm. He's all soft smiles and gentle touches that Izuna can barely feel, tender and soft when they're playing this particular part of the game. The domestic bliss, the soft lovers, all of the parts before they end up in the bedroom where Tobirama uses his body like a motionless doll and Izuna has to pretend not to mind. 

"Can you?"

"Mm," Tobirama releases him, stretching out his limbs. Pale limbs twist and crack, and he stands up, taking their dishes (his empty and Izuna's full) towards the kitchen that Izuna isn't allowed in. He reappears with a piece of sealing paper, a tag, and half-written kanji all over it. "I've been working on this. To make your body more authentic. Body temperature regulation."

"I see." 

Izuna grits his teeth beneath his lips, forcing himself to smile adoringly like Tobirama was doing _him_ a favor rather than himself. Everything was for Tobirama, every improvement, every kiss, every pretend affection it was all for that bastard. Because none of _this_ \-- this fake, pathetic excuse for life is Izuna's choice. He'd been content with his death, angry sure, but understanding that he had been defeated by a superior. 

(Memories of his afterlife were fading as his life dragged on. Moments reunited with dead siblings, so young and rosy-cheeked, with his mother and her wild grin like Madara, even his father, were slipping away like he was slowly dropping them out of his head. Izuna wanted that _peace_ back.)

"It isn't complete yet, but it will be soon." Tobirama assures, offering a hand to Izuna to help him up. 

Izuna wants to shout, _I don't need your help just like I didn't need you to bring me back_ , but that would get him punished again. So he takes his hand silently, easily pulls himself up, and leans his head onto Tobirama's shoulder like a loving wife. Just the way he knows the man likes it, which will push all of the Senju's buttons _just right_. 

Izuna can see the growing hardness of the Senju's cock through the thin blue fabric, and he fights back a genuine smirk. It was all routine by now. The sooner this was over, the sooner the game would end for today. He'd throw him into the bed, fuck him a few times, whisper a soft goodnight into his hair, and then pass out on the bed. Leaving Izuna to his private thoughts without these little pleasantries between them. 

"Should we go to the bedroom?" Tobirama whispers into his ear. 

Izuna hides a grimace. 

"Of course, _Senju_." 

**_____ **

His lips aren't moving, but he's _screaming_ inside, even though all he can manage to let out is a mangled choking sound. 

His body isn't moving, not since Tobirama activated the seal that's somewhere on his body. He'd made a mistake, made a miserable mistake, attacked Tobirama as soon as he'd gained feeling in his fingers, in skin. It'd been a protective instinct, to try and preserve himself, to try desperately to get _away_ from those rough hands. 

Because he had feeling now. In his body, Tobirama had readjusted the seals on his skin, making him warmer, softer, and sensitive to feeling. _Everywhere_ , and then Tobirama's hand had been against his cock--

And Izuna's fought back against the pleasure building in his belly and the fingers pressing against _inside of him_ , and he'd fought and clawed and refused. 

Tobirama had made him go limp. Which hadn't bothered him before, not really, because it didn't make much different than what he'd been feeling before, but now he could feel it. Could feel thin, long fingers stroke down his chest, across his body, down his cock, across newly warmed skin. Could feel every brush and pinch and tug of his hair--

Izuna was screaming, but no sound was coming out. He was thrashing and clawing, but not a single muscle moved. He was furious, but his chakra didn't bother to imitate his fury, and he was--

Tobirama enters him in a single thrust, muttering improvements and calculations, ways to make Izuna _better. Better, less original_ , and it hurts.

How dare he…? As if his anger, his fighting, his feelings were all mistakes, all pretend. None of it was real, like Izuna wae a toy that needed mending. As if his fear and resentment just needed cut out and stitched over, like he wasn't a real person with feelings. Like Izuna didn't match up with whatever was in the pale Senju's head and needed conformed. 

Tobirama _moves_ . Almost all the way out, almost giving him relief, but then jerks right back, and he loses the breath out of his unworking lungs. It's a bright, lingering pain. All white dots in the vision kind of hurt, not just a sudden jolt, but it stretches and burns and he's trying so hard to cry out. If he could just make any noise at all, it would relieve some of the pain and anger swelling inside his chest. If he could just claw at the sheets, just run his nails across Tobirama's back and dig in, just give him any of the _pain_ he's feeling right now, maybe it would be okay. 

But he can't. 

Izuna's screaming and nobody can hear him. 

**_____ **

_**ii.** _

That's how many lines in the wood that Izuna can feel from his spot on the tatami floor, limbs spread out awkwardly from where the Senju had laid him quickly before disappearing. _A mission_ , he had been told, which might almost be worse than when Tobirama was here. Because it's dark in the room, so dark because there are no windows, and the futon hasn't been laid out for him, and he can feel his own muscles protest at being left in one position for long. 

It aches. Everything feels hypersensitive, his legs somehow aching from being unmoved, but he was unable to do anything about it. It was driving him mad! He'd never believed in "fates worse than death" that his great aunt had warned him about years and years ago, but he did _now_. It was…horrible. Miserable, being left alone in the dark. Unable to move, no sound, no light, nothing. Able to feel only the floor against his skin, leaving imprints, hurting but not deteriorating.

He'd tried screaming, at first. But when had that ever gotten him anywhere? Nothing left his lips, not even a whimper or a groan, nothing to fill the silence. Nothing, but him and his thoughts and a body that wasn't responding. And the lines on the wood to count, and…

And he wanted his big brother. Izuna wanted to shriek at the top of his lungs for his big brother, _please, please Aniki, just put me out of my misery._ Because Madara had never denied him anything, no matter how childish or outrageous or senseless. Even when they didn't have the funds, Madara always found a way to give Izuna what he wanted. And if Izuna screamed, his brother would come _running_ to save him from whatever dangers were lurking, so if he could just somehow get his big brother, Madara would end this. He'd slit Tobirama's throat, burn his flesh until blackened bones and ash remained, destroy _everything._

He'd let Izuna rest, wouldn't he?

(He refuses to acknowledge that tiny little part of his brain that tells him that Madara might do the same as Tobirama, refuse to let him go, refuse to acknowledge his death.)

No sounds, no noise, no sight, more and more nothingness. How much time had elapsed since Tobirama left? How much more did he have before he returned and just….talked and ate his dinner and did something? _Anything?_ He couldn't stand the boredom, the unknowing. Being left alone. 

He couldn't do this. He couldn't do any of this. He needed noise. Sight. Stimulation, even pain would be a nice change. Real pain over tired, taut muscles in arms and legs that he can't feel enough to move. Paralyzed all the way down, unable to even move his lips, was worse than the torture he'd endured when he was caught by the Taketori clan and interrogated as a teenager. No, no, he'd take Tobirama's pretend household over being left alone. 

He…

He didn't want to be alone. 

**_____ **

More and more time passes. 

He can't fall asleep, no matter how much he wants to. He can't escape into his mind. 

He can't do anything.

But he really wants to die. 

**_____ **

Izuna actually cries when the door finally opens and his seal releases so he can move. There are no tears, this body isn't designed to produce them, but a dry sob escapes his lips when light pours into the dark room. 

"My apologies, Izu, my team took a little--"

On unsteady limbs, he leaps forward, clutching onto the tall man's legs, clinging with loose, unsteady fingers to his blue armour and pants like a weeping child. 

"Let me out." He chokes out, chest heaving with terror at the thought of being left alone. "Let me…"

"It's alright," Tobirama soothed, hands against his face. Warm hands, wonderfully warm and real and solid. Actual touch, not the floor with its lines, and there's light. And sound, and he lets out another dry, wracked _cry_ , trying to wrap his arms around his waist. 

He can't handle this again. He can't-- he can't--

"Perhaps we should go to the bedroom." Tobirama suggests in a low voice, easily picking the Uchiha up like he didn't weight anything at all, and maybe he didn't because he isn't alive and he isn't dead, just somewhere in between Heaven and Hell, and so for the first time--

"Please." He croaks out, and Izuna honestly wants to go with him. 

**_____ **

"Are you alright, Tobirama?" Izuna asks, from his place on the loveseat, useless hands folded across his lap. Not quite curiously, but not pleased either. Indifferent, for right now. 

_I hope you bleed out, bastard._

(But at least he was kind enough not to leave him in the dark room anymore.)

Tobirama gives him an unfocused, unsteady look. His hand was pressed tightly against an oozing wound across his side, twisting up into a slash across his belly, not deep enough to kill, but surely enough _to hurt_ . Izuna's body shivers in delight at the thought of someone finally _killing_ him, killing Tobirama so he'd be released into the Purelands again and never have to demean himself again. 

But the Senju's hands glow a dark blue, bordered with green, and the skin is slowly twisting back into place, like the injuries were never there, stitched back together by new tissue. Izuna's fingers twitched, and he swallowed hard, even if he didn't need to. He'd been _good_ lately, and if he was going to win this game, he needed to stay in Tobirama's good graces. 

"Do you need help?" He offers, if only to appease Tobirama's crazed need to know Izuna cared about him. The man shook his head, which was the only appropriate response because Izuna couldn't even attempt to grasp his chakra, let alone heal anyone even if he _knew how_ to heal, which he did not. 

(Besides how could he help anyone else if he couldn't even help himself?)

"I'm alright. You don't need to worry." Tobirama assures, settling himself down beside Izuna, not minding how the blood got onto the fabric of the furniture. He mourned it, for a moment, because the deep blue fabric reminded him of the sort of things that Madara would have picked out for his own home. His big brother had always favored blues, and Izuna had taken comfort in them, but now there was blood staining the loveseat. 

It was ruined. 

(Of course it was, Tobirama _ruined_ everything that made Izuna happy. Everything.)

"What happened?" 

Tobirama has a stack of paperwork on the table in front of them, and he stretches out his arms, leaning down to examine them. He's bruised, but healed enough to remove any chance of infection or fatality that could've given Izuna some reprieve. He gives the Uchiha a fond, though calculating stare, examining his face for a long while, before his eyes went down to the scroll he was unraveling. 

"Kumogakure shinobi." He replied curtly. "One of my students, he didn't move quickly enough, and I had to intervene. It was taken care of."

"There wasn't any other instructors to help?" Izuna probes, just enough curiousity in his tone to make it seem like he was making small talk rather than trying to find out more information. "Perhaps you should bring more forces with tensions high." 

"There aren't many I would trust with the lives of my students."

Izuna seizes his opportunity with vigor and desperation, cuddling his body as close to Tobirama as he could. Head on his shoulder, arm around his waist, trying to soften him up. "How about my brother?"

Tobirama stiffens up immediately, slowly setting the scroll down. 

_Oh no, oh fuck, I overstepped._

"Your brother?" Tobirama repeats slowly, not meeting his eyes, but his lip is stiff. He fists are clenched. 

Izuna rambles out as many nice lies as he can, panicking. "I know you've never gotten along, I know it. He's hard to like, but let me speak to him! He'll be so grateful that you've brought me back that he'll be nice to you, and you'll be safer on missions. I want you safe--" He stops when Tobirama grabs his face, fingers digging into his jaw. 

It creaks painfully, the bone clicking, but not breaking. This body can't break or bleed or--

"You still think about your brother?" Tobirama breathes out, and his eyes are hauntingly _blank_. Nothing in them except the reflection of the light, and there's drying blood against his fingers, on his face now, and Izuna is far more afraid that he wants to admit he is because he can't die. There's no escape from the pain when Tobirama loses his temper, when Izuna makes his mistakes, no passing out or dying when it gets to be too much. 

(What if he puts me back in the dark? What if I'm left alone again and I can't move and I--)

"No," Izuna gasps out, eyes wide, body not reacting fast enough to help him. "No, Tobirama, no, of course not, I was just trying to help you. Please, _please_." 

_And myself, if I could just get my big brother to realize I'm alive, if I could just trick you into letting me see him for a moment, he'd fucking kill you. He'd protect me and free me, and you'd be the one rotting away in the black, you--_

"I have enough to handle within this village, with the war, with Anija, to keep wondering how to fix you," Tobirama says dangerously, tightening his grip, and he doesn't soften up. Not even a little, if anything, the mention of his stresses are making him angrier, making him worse off. "Perhaps this is another side effect of this technique? After so long, your mental state begins to backtrack, unravelling? I'll need to write that down, make adjustments…"

 _No_ , Izuna wants to shout, but his throat is constricted and his body grows heavier and heavier and--

"Perhaps a break would be best, to let you heal?" Tobirama's talking more to himself than to the pinned Uchiha, and his eyes narrow as if he's thinking over every single scenario. "It was my own oversight, not to think of the long term effects of this technique, you know? I apologize, _Izuna_ , I didn't think of it."

He says his name like it was sentimental, as adoring and mournful as when Madara called him _otouto_ right before he died, and Izuna feels his stomach twist painfully into fear and panic. What was he planning? It would hurt, he was sure, just like everything hurt, just like it always made him feel disgusting and pained and...

Everything goes bla 

**_____ **

**_iii._ **

-ck. 

It went black. And that's he comes back, but he comes back _screaming_ because coming back to life is painful, because he's been forcefully shoved into a body that isn't his and he can feel every bone break and readjust to become _his again_. 

He wails and screams, because it feels like fire flushing through his veins, burning and sizzling the flesh as it twists and changes and becomes his, but not his and he wants to go back to being nothing. Izuna's lungs burn and twist and ache as life chokes out of the body he was stealing, killing off the person, but also shoving him inside of it and all he can see it _black black black._

Pain and fire and his skin being yanked across old flesh, and it hurts and it hurts, and stop, he doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to be brought back again, _please please please just stop--_

Except then it doesn't hurt. His bones click into place with a final _crack_ , his body jerks, and then everything goes very _very_ still and he's back again. Just like before, but this time he _felt it_ because that damned Senju's getting better at making him suffer, and he's improving, and Izuna gasps in air he doesn't need but then he felt lips against his. 

Rough and dry and then teeth against his lips, biting and sucking, and fingers clawing down his chest, no blood, just pain. This body can hurt, but not break, and when he lets his eyes flutter open, Tobirama's red eyes are staring into his. He lets out a cry of anger, but it gets lost in Tobirama's rough ministrations, and then his hand is being shoved down Tobirama's pants, and his back is against a wall--

And isn't this pathetic? To be ressurected at the whim of a lonely man, but Izuna can't go through that again, so he obeys. He obeys, he wraps his hand around the wet, thick cock, and he bites Tobirama's lips just as roughly until he tastes coppery blood. 

He strokes fast and hard and rough, hoping it _hurts_ him, just like he hurt Izuna bringing him back to life for the second time, but the man just moans and bites against his neck, enough to hurt, but not to mark, and he feels a mixture of anger and pity bubble up again. 

_Pathetic_ , he wants to shout at himself and at Tobirama, but he doesn't want to hurt or go numb again, so he doesn't, he just lets the man rock against his fists and lets him groan against his body like it's his choice, even if it's really not. Because that's all he can do now, and his body trembles as the last few growing pains end, and--

Tobirama moans out his name like a prayer. _Izuna_. And then comes all of his hand, trembling against the Uchiha, and Izuna feels the warm splash of cum against his fingers, but he doesn't stop stroking him. He keeps going until he hears the smallest little groan of pain, and then feels hands push him away. 

"It hurts," Tobirama says softly, collapsing into Izuna like he's a lifeline. "I shouldn't have waited so long to bring you back again. I've missed you." He whispers, offering a weary smile. "So much. But you needed time to heal, to come back correctly this time. I'll remember to release you more often."

"No, it's okay." Izuna whispers, voice trembling. "It won't happen again."

_I won't mention my brother again, I promise. Don't do this to me again, don't--_

Tobirama stares at him in quiet judgement, his lips pressed together tightly. "There's a war going on." He says quietly, taking his own shirt and cleaning Izuna's hand off. (Izuna is grateful to get the mess off.) "Anija is dead. I'm Hokage now."

"Oh." Izuna doesn't know what to say about that. He wonders how long Tobirama waited before reviving him again, wonders what's going on through his unstable mind, his insanity disguised as genius. "Why don't you bring him back?"

_Like me? Torture him in my place?_

"He doesn't matter to me like you do." 

And Izuna doesn't know what to do with that, not when he doesn't understand the sentiment. He can't imagine putting anyone above his Aniki, not even close. He can't imagine knowing how to revive his beloved brother and choosing _not_ to in favor of somebody else, an enemy.

"And he left me to handle all of his work. To handle his wife and his children, his grandchild. This war. All of it, but you've never left me of your own consent. You only leave when I force you to." Tobirama rambles, falling to his knees, dragging Izuna down with him. He buries his face into Izuna's neck, and Izuna doesn't know what to do so he lets him, he wraps his arms around him, and he listens to Tobirama let out a choked, quiet cry. 

"You're not going to leave me." Tobirama demands, like a petulant child. "You are never going to leave me."

Izuna bites his lip and says nothing. 

He realizes he's not going to win this game. 

**_____ **

Tobirama begins to talk to him after _it_ happens sometimes, when Izuna's left spread out in the bed, with cum leaking out from his overly sensitive body. He'll stroke his hair, and speak of his situation as the leader of this village, Konoha. A silly name, but Izuna thinks that maybe Madara came up with it because it's his level of dumb, but then he misses his brother more, so he tries to ignore it. 

"Kumogakure is becoming an issue, brokering peace with them is more of a headache than I thought." Tobirama says softly, his hands are cold against his back, and he spreads his fingers across Izuna's spine. He shivers, still tender from the bites left there that have long faded, even if the feeling of them hasn't. "And then with their rogue shinobi, in particular, the Kinkaku Force…" He dug his nails into the soft skin of Izuna's ass, and it took everything in him to not flinch with Tobirama's eyes on him. "This was so much easier when it was just you and I against each other. So much less complicated."

"You killed me." Izuna tells him numbly, unsure of what to say now. "I'm sure you'll handle this...Kinkaku Force." 

(He knows better than to ask for explanations. He's so far behind in information that he'll never be able to catch up or understand the world outside the door of this house.)

Tobirama hums, dragging his fingers off his skin and tangling them into his hair. "I'll have to leave soon. To handle this."

"Oh."

Izuna closes his eyes, and he can already feel himself going crazy again at the thought of being locked in that room again, without any kind of stimulation. But it's better than being let go of and then revived again, so he holds back his protests. He needs to be good, if he doesn't want to hurt anymore, he needs to stop mouthing off and stop thinking about his brother, and just stop wanting to leave. 

(It was like Tobirama was in his head. Did he know how much Izuna wanted to leave? Was that why he--)

What the man says next surprises him so much that he chokes. 

"I trust you, so I'm going to let you stay out. I'll seal up the house. Nobody will be able to come in or out, don't worry." 

Izuna sits up, hissing at the strain of his back and the ache in his ass. He stares up at Tobirama in a sick mixture of gratefulness and shock, and he puts a hand against his bare chest. 

"No room?" He breathed out. Tobirama offers him a serene, gentle smile, tugging loosely at his hair, shaking his hair. 

"I trust you." He repeats. "I'll seal up the house."

_And some part of Izuna realizes that isn't trust. Because trust isn't locking up the house to make sure he won't be able to get out, like a cage without a door, but Izuna can't be bothered with that. Not right now._

He's too grateful. 

He kisses Tobirama with as much force and passion as he can. 

**_____ **

Tobirama kisses him again, before he leaves. He stands, in full armour, so achingly familiar that Izuna could close his eyes and pretend they were standing across from each other at the Naka River, preparing to fight. 

(The Senju was right, those days were much less complicated, less tangled and cruel.)

"I won't be long." Tobirama assures him, pressing a hand against the back of his neck. His eyes are soft and fond. "My team and I will handle everything quickly. I'll be back soon. Perhaps two weeks, at most."

"Good." Izuna isn't sure when he began to want the man's presence. (Somewhere around the time that not speaking began to drive him into a new sort of torture.) 

"I love you." Tobirama tells him, pressing their foreheads together. And Izuna freezes, the words thick and chalky on his tongue, because he doesn't love him. He's a captive, he's been tortured, he's sealed inside a house, he's being denied his death--

"I love you too." Izuna forces out, and his stomach clenches even tighter. 

**_____ **

He spends the first few days in the kitchen, by the window, curled up by the window near the sink. He can't get out any of the doors, he tried. Izuna gets sharp, agonizing jolts of lightning when he tries to pull the doors open. The first time sends him sprawling over the floor, shaking, fighting back sobs as electricity went through every nerve, vein, piece of him. 

He doesn't try it again. Instead Izuna explores the house a little, and a part of him wonders why Tobirama chose _him_ as the person of his affections. If anything, Madara would have been the better match, especially with the looks of this house. It was like Tobirama had the same taste and decorating style as Madara, with all the furniture and meager decorations in accordance to things that Izuna thought his brother might like. But he doesn't linger on those thoughts, not for long, afraid of Tobirama finding out. 

By the window, he can watch the sky a little, and learns they're surrounded by forestry. Most likely outside that village that Tobirama spoke of so much, so he's still alone. But now he can watch the sky and count down the days. He spends hours and hours, from sun up to sun down watching the skies. 

Izuna tries to find other ways to entertain himself. This is what he wanted, right? The freedom to roam. He goes through Tobirama's papers and scrolls and books, but gains little from them. He's still missing too much vital information about this world, missed too much of it. He tries to draw using the ink brush and empty scrolls that Tobirama left, but he can't control his fingers enough to make them draw as elegantly as he used to. 

It's sloppy, all jittery lines and ink blots, but he tries. He draws his Sharingan, and then his kitten from before he dies. It looks more like a bird with his lumbering fingers and stiff limbs delaying his drawing process, so instead he starts marking off the days until Tobirama gets back. 

He's at day six so far, and the silence is beginning to bother him again, just like before, even though he isn't in the dark. It frightens him to be left alone, day and night, without any words or touching or anything to occupy himself with, and he feels ready to burst. 

When did he start missing Tobirama? He hates him, he knows he hates him, but the house was also far too quiet and lonely without him. 

Izuna watches the sunset over the trees. 

He'll just wait for him to come back, and then everything will be alright again. 

**_____ **

He sets up the dishes, two bowls, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks on the kitchen table by the ninth day. 

Just to be prepared for if Tobirama arrives early, just so he'll be ahead of the man so he doesn't have to set anything up. He kneels down on his side of the table, his hands fidgeting in his lap. 

Just like before, two bowls, two pairs of chopsticks. Tobirama will come through the door and fill both plates even though Izuna can't eat. He'll bring the meal in from somewhere else, always takeout. Tobirama never bothers to cook when he's with Izuna, too lost to the fantasy or too busy with his new jutsu or his paperwork. 

(He's Hokage now, he gets very busy. Izuna hates himself for justifying his captor.)

Izuna watches the sun through the dining room window. He stays in his spot, waiting, the entire day. 

**_____ **

By the fifteenth day, Izuna has spiralled into a sudden and new fury. He rages through the house, slamming his bare feet against the table, sending it flying. It hurts, but pain doesn't slow him down anymore. Throws the dishes across the floor. 

Seethes as he goes about tearing about the house, throwing the futon in the spare room and ripping the sheets in half, and he wants _to torch_ this stupid house because Tobirama had said fourteen days (two _weeks_ ), but now it was fifteen. 

This is his punishment, right? It had to be. He must have heard Izuna thinking about his brother again, right? So he'd abandoned him in here, to teach him a lesson, right? Izuna rationalized his abandonment as he stormed through the house, smashing the vases, the tea pot, and breaking the doorframe of the bathroom. 

Or worse, what if Tobirama was with his brother? What if Izuna was right, about his brother being better suited to Tobirama's tastes? What if Tobirama had returned, but had gone to Madara instead? The anger surged like poison in his veins, rotting him from the inside out, sending him into a new bout of destroying. 

Snapping the chopsticks. Tearing the paperwork and the scrolls. 

(He spills the ink across the floor. He didn't need it now, did he? It's long past the fourteen days, and he's been abandoned. Why torture himself with numbers?)

Izuna throws a chair against the window, which doesn't shatter because of the bastard's seals, and lets out an angry scream. 

He screams and screams, but nobody comes. 

**_____ **

Time passes. 

Izuna begins to calm down, begins to go over every single situation in his head, tries to figure out _why_ Tobirama would just leave him? 

Did he die? No, no, he couldn't have, right? Tobirama was the one that made a thousand promises about them dying together, going to the afterlife together, as always intended. 

That bastard had dragged him out of the Purelands and defied every law set by God and Man to do so, torturing him the whole way! He couldn't just bring him back and then _leave_ him, go on to the Purelands without him, right?

Tobirama wouldn't die without him, right?

**_____ **

More time passes. 

Nobody comes. Nobody knows he's been left here. Izuna can see the forestry begin to creep up across the house, like moss and weeds, and he doesn't know what to do other than wait for Tobirama to return. 

He'll wait. He'll come back for him, right? 

All he has to do is wait. 

**_____ **

Izuna starts to dry sob and doesn't stop until his throat hurts and his voice dies off. 

He's all alone, a dead man, in a dead man's house. 

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently i have a thing with dead people lol who knew


End file.
